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EARLY    POEMS 


BY 


GERTRUDE    MOREY    SWAIN 


••  •  •••.•  i*.j  ?  .*. 


HAN   FRANCISCO: 

PRESS  OF  HOUOHTON  &  FKJKL, 

1887. 


*• 


DEDICATION, 


To  thee  whose  kindness  and  whose  tender  care 
So  much  of  future  rest  and  peace  forecast, 

Thee  whose  affection  makes  my  present  fair, 
I  dedicate  these  memories  of  the  past. 

For  thou,  I  know,  wilt  read  but  with  love's  eye, 
And  take  small  notice  of  imperfect  speech  ; 

Thou  wilt  detect  the  sniile,  and  hear  the  sigh, 
And  to  thy  heart  their  messages  will  reach. 

And  to  my  sisters,  now  so  far  away, 

I  would  send  also  greeting  with  the  lines,— 
Dear  ones  at  home,  who  many,  many  a  day 
>  Listened  with  patience  to  my  little  rhymes. 

You  will  remember  why  I  wrote  the  songs, 

Your  eyes  between  the  lines  will  see  the  rest ; 
Take,  then,  with  gratitude  to  you  belongs, 
Love  from  your  little  sister  in  the  West. 

\ 
ST.  PAUL,  MINN., 

November,  1887. 


915588 


TO   R.  C.  W. 


O  sweet,  I  love  thee  fond  and  true, 

Far  more  than  you  can  think  ; 
My  love's  so  strong  it  scorns  restraint, 
And  heart  to  heart  'twill  link. 

My  heart  goes  out  in  passion  deep, 
And  faithful  to  its  trust  will  keep. 
Then,  dear  one,  surely  you'll  be  mine, 
My  loved  and  cherished  Valentine. 

Your  image  haunts  my  dreaming  hours, 

Your  voice  I  ever  hear  ; 
Your  smile  illumines  my  days  of  gloom 
And  gives  me  faith  and  cheerv 

O  love  !  without  thee  all  is  grief; 
'Tis  in  thine  arms  I  find  relief. 
Then,  dear  one,  surely  you'll  be  mine, 
My  loved  and  cherished  Valentine. 


A  MOON  SONG. 


One  wind-lulled,  cloud  wrapped  night, 

From  dreams  of  thee, 
Sad  dreams,  half  touched  with  fright, 

From  pain  not  free, — 
Sweet  dreams,  that  filled  with  tears  my  eyes, 

With  fear  my  breast,— 


I  woke  with  sudden,  glad  surprise. 

A  flood  of  light 
Throughout  the  night, 

With  quiet,  silent  might, 
Seemed  hushing  all  to  rest. 

Out  in  the  western  sky, 

Just  going  down, 
Amid  heaped  clouds  that  lie 

With  midnight's  frown, 
I  saw  the  moon,  large,  glowring,  filled 

With  shining  peace; 
My  heart  with  rest  and  rapture  thrilled. 

And  as  it  brushed 
The  clouds,  they  flushed 

With  light;  the  night  winds  hushed. 
The  glory  bade  my  heart's  fears  cease. 


Where  shall  I  find  my  Valentine  ? 
Know  ye  that  land  where  golden  light 
Chases  the  shadows  from  the  night, — 
Where  aching  hearts  and  feet  find  rest, 
Where  vanished  hands,  once  more  are  pressed? 
There  dwells  my  love,  my  Valentine. 


.* 


WIND  OF  THE  WEST. 


The  west  wind  sighs  among  the  pines. 

They  murmur  its  refrain  ; 
It  lightly  sweeps  across  the  grass, 

The  flowers  bend  to  see  it  pass, 
Then  smiling  rise  again. 

It  lingers  in  each  dewy  nook 
And  mossy  dell  at  whiles  ; 

It  wafts  a  kiss  to  every  brook 
That  ripples  into  smiles. 

It  whispers  low  its  summer  tale 
Of  dreaminess  and  joy,— 

It  tells  of  sunlit  days  to  come, 
Of  love  without  alloy. 

It  lulls  our  anxiousness  to  rest, 
And  soothes  our  restless  fear. 

O  hasten,  sweet  wind  of  the  west ; 
For  thou  to  us  art  dear. 


I  LOVE  MY  LOVE. 


I  love  my  love,  although  I  know 

He  loves  not  me ; 
But  for  the  sake  of  long  ago 

I'll  faithful  be. 
And  trust  in  God  and  hope  for  best, 

With  patient  heart ; 
Perchance  that  sometime  joy  and  rest 

Will  be  my  part ; 
If  not,— still  let  me  faithful^be, 

Still  love  my  love,  who  loves  not  me. 


In  sorrow,  in  sighing  and  weeping, 
In  days  that  are  dreary  and  long, 
In  nights  when  sad  vigils  I'm  keeping 
In  seeking  for  grace  to  be  strong,— 
One  thought  keeps  my  faint  heart  from  breaking, 
One  memory  bids  sorrow  flee, 
One  sweet  hope  my  soul  ne'er  forsaking,— 
'Tis  the  thought,  'tis  the  mem'ry  of  thee. 


TO  ISABEL. 


When  on  a  bright  September  day 
You  look  on  Nature,  far  away, 
You  listen  to  the  birds  and  breeze 
And  watch  the  shadows  on  the  trees, 
And  see  the  clouds  float  through  the  sky, 
The  flocks  of  swallows  flitting  by, 
The  waving  fields  of  corn  and  wheat, 
And  feel  the  breath  of  flowers  sweet, 
You  hear  the  locust's  drowsy  call, — 
The  mellow  sunshine  over  all, — 
Do  not  all  these  your  spirit  tell 
I  love  you — love  you,  Isabel. 

As  ships  upon  a  stormy  sea 

In  peace  below  must  anchored  be, 

Against  the  wave  and  angry  blast, 

In  safety  till  the  gale  is  past, 

So  love,  below  the  toil,  the  strife, 

The  storms,  the  waves,  the  blasts  of  life, 

In  the  quiet  haven  of  our  home, 

Though  far  away  your  feet  may  roam, 

My  love  shall  still  an  anchor  be 

To  bind  your  heart  to  home  and  me. 

0  Isabel,  sweet  Isabel, 

1  love  you  more  than  I  can  tell, 
I  love  you  in  my  inmost  heart, 
Of  all  my  life  you  form  a  part. 


•* 


A  FRIEND. 


For  all  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 

I  would  not  give  a  sigh, 
And  beauty,  power,  and  world- wide  fame 

May  ever  pass  me  by  ; 
For  these  have  sure  and  sudden  ends, 
And  ill  repay  the  time  man  spends. 

But  give  to  me,  in  place  of  these, 

A  gift  that's  rare  and  great, 
And  one  that  few  men  ever  have, 

But  find  it  out  too  late  ; 
'Tis  this, — a  friend,  brave,  earnest,  trne, 
Whose  love  will  last  a  lifetime  through. 

Who'll  give  me  courage  when  I'm  weak, 

And  comfort  me  in  sorrows  ; 
Who'll  gladden  many  a  weary  day 

With  hopes  of  bright  to-morrows  ; 
Who  to  my  tale  of  grief  will  lend 
A  patient  ear, — ah,  what  a  friend. 

Who'll  love  me  whether  good  or  ill 

Betide  me  on  life's  sea, 
And  if  I  seemed  to  slight  his  love, 

Would  kind  and  patient  be, 
And  take  me  to  his  heart  again, 
To  soothe  my  soul's  remorseful  pain. 


Ah  me  !  if  I  for  such  a  friend 

Should  search  the  wide  world  through, 
I  should  not  find  him,  for  the  earth 

Holds  few  so  pure  and  true ; 
And  those  who  call  themselves  our  friends 
To  oft  are  shades  life's  sunshine  sends. 


THE  STEEPLE. 


Sharp  outlined  'gainst  a  dark'ning  sky, 
There  stands  a  steeple,  clear  and  high, 
And  near  it  many  swallows  fly 
For  shelter  as  the  blast  sweeps  by. 

Through  storms  and  winds,  through  snows  and  rains, 

It  ever  steadfast,  firm  remains, 

In  birds'  and  breezes'  sweet  refrains 

Forgets  the  shocks  and  weather-stains. 

And  as  I  view  it,  solemn,  still^ 

And  listen  to  the  bird-notes  shrill, 

I  feel  a  strange,  soul-stirring  thrill, 

And  sad,  sweet  thoughts  my  memory  fill. 


BY  THE  SEA. 


One  fair  evening,  as  I  wandered 

By  the  shore-caressing  sea  ; 
As  I  listened  to  its  murmuring, 

Watched  it  swelling  far  and  free  ; 
As  I  felt  the  evening's  thraldom, 

As  I  yielded  to  its  spell ; 
As  I  saw  the  moonlight  falling 

Over  sea  and  hill  and  dell,— 
Faint  and  far  and  sadly  thrilling, 

Though  the  summer's  mystic  calm, 
Came  a  melody  entrancing, 

Sweet,  yet  with  a  faint  alarm. 

Then  the  music  woke  within  me 

Memories  that  long  years  had  slept, 
And  a  flood  of  strange  emotions 

Through  my  listening  spirit  swept. 
Then  I  thought  me  of  fair  evenings 

Like  to  this,  in  happy  days, 
When  as  now  I  saw  the  moonlight 

Falling  through  the  summer  haze. 
And  my  memory  dwelt  and  lingered 

On  that  sweet  and  lovelit  time, 
While  the  voice  that  woke  the  echoes 

Died  away  in  silver  chime. 


On  seeing  some  withered  Corn  Husks  and  Potato  Parings. 


"Shrine  of  the  mighty,  can  it  be, 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee?" 


Poor  faded  things  ! 

How  touching  'tis  to  view 

Your  vanished  beauty,  and  recall 

How  short  a  time  ago  you  flourished 

In  yonder  field,  and  drank  in  sun  and  dews. 

A  few  short  hours  ago 

The  west  wind  gently  whispered  in  your  ears, 

And  birds  sang  far  above. 

You  watched  the  clouds,  perhaps, 

Or  maybe  dreamed  beneath  the  stars 

Of  life-long  rest.     But  ah  !  a  ruthless  hand 

Hath  plucked  you  up,  and  hurled  you  to  a  fate 

As  pitiless  as  death.     And  these  remains  of  yours 

Are  cast  away  without  a  pang, 

To  be  devoured  by  aught  that  chances  by. 

Here  !  let  me  pick  thee  up, 

And  put  thee  from  thy  misery  at  once. 

Farewell, — a  long,  a  sad  farewell ! 

Here,  chick,  chick,  chick ! 


10 


FRIENDSHIP. 


Friendship  is  more  than  love 

To  the  heart  that  is  weary  ; 
It  lifts  our  devotion  above 

In  the  days  that  are  dreary. 
It  gives  us  sweet  comfort  and  cheer, 

And  keeps  us  from  sorrow, 
It  tells  us  to  have,  not  fear, 

But  hope  for  to-morrow. 
It  fills  us  \vith  rest  and  peace, 

And  hushes  repining  ; 
It  bids  us  from  sighing  to  cease, 

Our  passions  refining. 
It  helps  us  to  see  and  amend 

Our  faults  and  our  failings ; 
It  causes  our  proud  hearts  to  bend 

With  repentant  bewailings. 

0  Friendship!  thou  light  of  my  life, 
I  worship,  adore  thee  ! 

1  pause  in  the  midst  of  my  strife 

In  homage  before  thee. 
I  pray  thee,  accept  my  hearts' s  love, 

My  deepest  devotion. 
And  draw  my  affection  above, 

With  calm,  pure  emotion. 


i  i 


*• 


EVENING. 


The  sunlight  fades  from  off  the  hills, 
The  dusky  night  falls  swiftly  down. 

The  quivering  stars  come  slowly  out. 
Like  gleaming  jewels  in  Night's  crown. 

The  weary  day  is  left  behind 

With  all  its  care,  its  toil,  its  strife. 

The  moonlit  trees,  the  shimmering  brook, 
Seem  glimpses  of  a  better  life. 

O  summer  evenings  !  calm,  serene, — 
With  raptured  hearts  we  welcome  thee, 

For  love's  renewed,  and  faith's  made  strong, 
And  hate  and  passions  cease  to  be. 


The  merry  days,  the  merry  days  are  gone  ; 

New  cares  are  come,  new  grief,  with  sorrow  born 

Our  weary  hearts  with  longing  call  for  rest, 

But  patience,  dear  ;  our  lives  with  love  are  blest ! 


12 


A  VALENTINE. 


My  cousins  fair,  on  this  sweet  day 

Which  happy  birds  and  lovers  greet, 
I  ask  your  patience  while  I  lay 
My  simple  love-gift  at  your  feet. 

I  send  my  heart  with  these  poor  lines 
I  pray  you,  be  my  Valentines. 

Among  you  three  I  cannot  choose, 

I  love 'you  all,  as  well  you  know  ; 
If  you  my  one  request  refuse, 

You  fill  my  life  with  tears  and  woe. 
Ah,  dear  ones,  be  of  lenient  minds  : 
I  pray  you,  be  my  Valentines. 

My  heart  is  large  enough  for  all. 
To  each  one  I  will  ever  prove 
Steadfast  and  true,  whate'er  befall ; 

No  adverse  powers  my  love  shall  move. 
My  soul  its  highest  hopes  assigns 
To  you — my  charming  Valentines. 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE  SNOW. 


A  clear,  a  cold,  a  winter's  night, 

A  landscape  white  with  snow  ; 
A  flood  of  steady,  cruel  light ; 

The  shadows  deeper  grow. 
My  heart, — my  heart  grows  faint  with  pain, 

My  soul  its  cry  can  scarce  contain ; 
The  weary  tale  is  told  again, 

By  the  moonlight  on  the  snow. 

That  winter's  night  was  long  ago  ; 

It  seems  but  just  gone  by  ; 
I  watched  the  weird  light  brighter  grow, 

Too  numbed  for  moan  or  sigh. 
And  now  I  dread  the  coming  night,— 

My  heart  is  filled  with  strange  affright ; 
It  thrills  and  quivers  at  the  sight 

Of  the  moonlight  on  the  snow. 


14 


TO   R.  C.  W. 


Another  year  has  passed  away, 
Another  leaf  is  turned  to-day, 

To  fill  with  grief  or  pleasure  ; 
But  let  us  hope  your  life  will  be 
Both  fair  to  live  and  fair  to  see, 
And  happiness  be  felt  by  thee, 

In  fullest,  deepest  measure. 

Dear  heart,  may  loves  and  friendships  true, 
May  frequent  joys  and  sorrows  few 

Attend  your  pathway  ever. 
And  though  other  friends  may  come  and  go, 
Though  other  loves  your  heart  may  know, 
God  grant  that  nothing  here  below 

Shall  e'er  our  friendship  sever. 


SERENADE. 


O  dreaming  love 

Awake  !  and  with  thine  eyes, 

Thy  violet,  slumbrous  eyes, 

That  glow  wdth  tender  fire, 

Illume  the  night. 

Their  lovelit  depths  reveal 

Thy  heart's  divinest  joys. 

They  tell  of  fairest  dreams, 

Of  happy  thoughts,  of  hope, 

Of  sweetest  trust, — of  love. 

My  longing  heart 
Beneath  the  stars  cries  out 
For  thee,  O  dreaming  love. 


16 


V- 


SONG. 

The  day  is  dreary,  the  night  is  long, 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 
I  have  no  heart  for  dance  or  song, 
I  care  not  for  the  right  or  wrong ; 
I  only  sit  and  long,  and  long 

For  one  who  comes,  ah  !  never. 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 

The  weeks  go  by  with  such  leaden  feet, 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 
;<  Come  back  to  me !"     I  sad  entreat. 
But  echoes  alone  on  my  wild  heart  beat, 
I  hear  but  the  storm  and  the  driving  sleet, 

And  he, — he  comes,  ah  !  never. 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 

His  heart  is  far  'neath  the  throbbing  sea, 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 
They  beat  in  unison,  all  three,— 
His  heart,  long  stilled,  that  lives  in  me, 
Mine,  dead  with  him,  and  the  pulsing  sea. 

And  he  will  come,  ah  !  never. 

(Sweet  love,  love  ever.) 


CHRISTMAS  CAROL, 


Christmas  Day  has  come  again, 
Christmas  bells  are  pealing  ; 
Merry  song,  and  laughter  sweet, 
Sparkling  eyes  and  dancing  feet 
Tell  the  tale  we  all  repeat, 
Happy  hearts  revealing. 

Christmas  bells,  so  sweet  and  clear, 
At  their  silver  voices 
Doubts  and  fears  are  swept  away. 
All  is  happiness  to-day, 
Hvery thing  is  bright  and  gay, 
Kvery  heart  rejoices. 

Christmas  bells,  swing  clear  and  free  ! 
Fling  your  song  from  sea  to  sea. 
L,et  the  flying  echoes  call 
"  Peace,  good  will,  and  love  for  all !  " 


18 


•* 


IN  SPRINGTIME. 


Through  all  the  dreary  winter 

I  mourn  the  love  I  've  lost ; 
Through  all  the  dreary  winter 

My  soul  with  grief  is  tossed  ; 
I  watch,    I  long  for  spring  to  come, 
That  truer  loves  may  cheer  my  gloom. 

For  first  we  met  in  spring-time — 

As  shy  and  sweet  was  she 
As  ever  purpling  primrose, 

Or  pale  anemone. 
And  love  bloomed  with  the  violet, 
And  each  life  toward  the  other  set. 

Our  love  grew  with  the  summer, 
And  deepened  with  its  prime. 

O  sweet,  yet  fateful  season  ; 
O  dreamy,  sunlit  time  ! 

Its  breezes  fanned  our  passion  deep, 

And  lulled  our  thoughts  of  care  to  sleep. 

But  ah  !  the  cruel  autumn 
With  frost  and  falling  leaves, 

Works  many  bitter  changes, 
And  many  a  heart  bereaves. 

It  chilled  her  love  with  one  sharp  breath. 

Eftsoon  it  died  a  painless  death. 


•i 


Beware  of  springtime  friendships,— 
Of  summer  loves  beware  ! 

For  many  a  winsome  maiden 
Can  be  as  false  as  fair. 

And  not  all  loves  that  early  grow 

Will  steadfast  keep  in  winter's  snow. 


CRADLE  SONG. 


Darling,  rest  awhile. 
The  sunset's  glory  fades  in  gray, 
The  twilight  links  departing  day 
With  dreamy  night ;  and  o'er  the  bay 
Stars  soon  will  smile, 
Then,  darling,  rest  awhile. 

Darling,  rest  awhile. 
The  low  winds  whisper  thee  good-night, 
And  till  the  morn  sets  earth  alight 
My  loving  watch  shall  keep  from  fright, 
From  care  and  guile, 
Then,  darling,  rest  awhile. 


20 


•v 


ODE  TO  DISHES. 


I  sit  at  my  chamber  window 
And  look  at  our  neighbor's  yard, 
And  I  think  of  the  waiting  dishes, 
And  I  feel  that  my  lot  is  hard. 
I  hear  the  robins  singing 
So  merry  and  free  and  gay, 
But  I  feel  my  heart  sink  within  me, 
For  I  know  that  there  they  lay 
Downstairs  on  the  kitchen  table, 
Waiting  for  me  to  come  ; 
And  when  I  think  of  that  dreadful  sight 
It  almost  strikes  me  dumb. 
Brother  Charles  is  out  in  the  garden, 
Gaily  hoeing  his  peas, 
But  I  think  of  the  waiting  dishes, 
And  my  heart  can  know  no  ease. 
O,  those  terrible,  terrible  dishes  ! 
O,  when  will  they  ever  be  done  ? 
But  back  to  my  heart  comes  the  mournful  cry, 
'  Not  till  thy  course  is  run  ! ' ' 

The  village  clock  is  striking  one. 
Those  horrible  dishes  must  be  done. 
So  let  me  to  my  task  depart, 
While  sorrow  rends  my  youthful  heart. 
And  if  you'd  of  the  heavens  above 
Some  blessing  crave — some  gift  of  love, 
O,  ask  that  your  fair  lot  may  be 
That  dishes  ne'er  may  fall  to  thee. 


21 


NIGHT. 


Swift-flying  clouds  across  the  moon, 

A  cloud-flecked  sky ; 
A  valley  underneath  a  hill, 
Inlaid  with  shadows,  weird  and  still ; 

The  treetops  high 
Are  silvered  by  the  elfin  light, 
And  stirred  by  low  winds  of  the  night. 

O  flickering  shadows  !  o'er  our  hearts 

That  watch  and  faint, 
You  cast  a  gloom  that  ne'er  departs, 

Of  sad  complaint. 

And  vague,  yet  weary,  hopeless  pain 
Falls  drearily,  like  twilight  rain. 


A  warm,  true  heart,  and  gentleness  that  comes 
from  strength, 

My  love  will  bring  ; 
An  upright  soul  and  honest  life, 
A  mind  with  richest  knowledge  rife, 
A  willing  arm  in  worthy  strife, 
A  helping  hand,  and  love  of  boundless  length, 

Of  sterling  ring. 


22 


•* 


So,  when  day  is  done,  and  the  shadows 

Come  creeping  over  the  hill, 
And  moonlight  silvers  the  treetops, 

And  the  brook  in  the  valley  still, 
I  shall  walk  in  its  soft  and  mellow  glow, 
And  think  of  the  days  long,  long  ago. 


When  days  are  dark,  and  clouds  hang  low, 
When  driving  rain  and  whirling  snow 

Obscure  our  longing  vision, 
Then,  love,  like  singing  in  a  storm, 
Like  some  sweet  rapture  without  form, 
The  thought  of  thee  comes  close  and  warm, 

With  happiness  elysian. 

When  winter  roads  are  sparkling  white, 
When  summer  smiles  in  golden  light, 

When  autumn  stars  are  gleaming, 
When  gentle  breezes  whisper  soft, 
And  nightingales  sing  sad  and  oft, 
And  larks  their  sweet  strains  bear  aloft, 

Then,  love,  of  thee  I'm  dreaming. 


•* 


"TAFFY  ON  A  STICK. 


Underneath  the  apple  trees, 
Sadly  whistling  for  a  breeze, 

(Though  a  sailor's  trick,) 
Lie  three  maidens,  gay  and  free, 
Hot  as  ever  hot  can  be, 
Bating,  as  the  neighbors  see, 

"Taffy  on  a  stick." 

Still  upon  the  turf  they  lie, 
Heedless  of  the  warning  cry 

That  'twill  make  them  sick  ; 
While  the  trees  above  them  throw 
Deeper  shadows,  long  and  low, 
Hating,  as  the  moments  go, 

"Taffy  on  a  stick." 

Ah  !  when  many  days  have  gone, 
Days  of  all  their  pleasures  shorn, 

Cares  come  fast  and  thick, 
Then  how  oft  our  thoughts  will  fly 
To  those  merry  days  gone  by, 
And  recall,  with  half  a  sigh, 

"Taffy  on  a  stick." 


26 


TO  R.  C.  W. 


Farewell,  my  love,  a  long  farewell, 

Our  childhood's  home  thou  art  forsaking  ; 
With  memories  of  the  happy  days 

So  long  gone  by,  my  heart  is  breaking, 
You  leave  the  well-known  hills  and  dales, 

The  breezy  uplands  and  the  wildwood, 
You  leave  the  brown  and  sparkling  brook,— 

The  happy,  happy  home  of  childhood. 

But  though  new  hills,  new  rocks  and  streams, 

Become  endeared  by  lovelit  hours, 
Though  far  away  come  fairer  scenes, 

And  brighter  tints,  and  sweeter  flowers, 
You  e'er  will  find,  though  I  may  be 

Forgot  'mid  friends  of  nobler  fashion, 
No  batter  friendship,  firmer  trust, 

No  truer  love  or  deeper  passion. 


27 


> 


THE  DEVIL. 


How  do  you  think  the  devil  looks? 

Like  all  tile  pictures  seen  in  books 

Of  a  terrible  shape  with  floating  hair 

Sailing  swiftly  around  in  air, 

Like  man  and  bird  and  beast  in  one, 

The  most  horrible  vision  under  the  sun  ? 

Do  you  think  he's  a  spirit,  who  howls  and  roars 

In  the  tempest  that  beats  on  seabound  shores  ? 

Do  you  think  he  stays  at  home  in  the  light, 

And  only  ventures  out  in  the  night, 

When  he  lies  in  wait  in  the  darkest  shades, 

To  terrify  timorous  men  and  maids  ? 

Do  you  think  he  is  hideous,  fierce  and  grim, — 

Do  you  think  he  would  tear  you  limb  from  limb  ? 

Do  you  think  he  would  worry  and  torture  the  weak, 

And  dance  with  joy  at  their  dying  shriek, 

In  the  light  of  his  sulphurous  lightning  gleam  ? 

Does  the  devil  ever  in  this  way  seem  ? 




28 


O  no  !  he  doesn't  look  thus  at  all. 
The  devil  is  straight,  and  lithe,  and  tall ; 
The  devil  is  charming  from  head  to  feet, 
His  mouth,  though  cruel,  is  firm  and  sweet, 
His  smile  is  winning,  his  eyes  are  deep, 
Where  wicked  fires  are  never  asleep, 
Although  they  can  sink  to  a  tender  glow 
While  he  utters  burning  words  and  low, 
Which  fill  your  heart  like  a  spell  and  dream, 
Till  you  lose  your  soul  in  the  fatal  gleam. 
The  devil  sings  tenor  and  plays  the  guitar ; 
The  devil  is  more  attractive,  by  far, 
Than  all  the  saints  the  world  will  hold, 
And  it's  hard  to  tell  his  glitter  from  gold. 
He's  some  one  you're  very  likely  to  meet, 
For  all  the  world  round  go  his  restless  feet, 
So  look  out  for  the  devil,  maidens  shy, 
Lest  tender  hearts  break,  and  sweet  hopes  die. 


*• 


29 


A  SUMMER  SONG. 


The  day  is  calm  and  sweet  and  clear, 
The  only  sounds  that  meet  the  ear 
Are  the  cheerful  singing  of  the  birds, 
The  far-off  lowing  of  the  herds, 
The  gentle  music  of  the  breeze 
That  shakes  and  quivers  through  the  trees, 
In  melodies  so  sweet  and  clear, 
So  softly  murmuring,  that  we  hear 
Who  listen  not,  but  rustling  leaves, 
But  to  him  who  listens  and  receives 
The  full  import,  it  seems  to  bring, 
From  the  land  where  angels  ever  sing, 
The  echo  of  a  sweet  and  heavenly  lay, 
The  mystic  music  of  a  perfect  day, 


HONORA  MARGARET. 


HONORA. 


An  heirloom  from  the  ancient  Latin  race, 

My  faithful  friend,— 

A  noble,  grand,  a  sweet  and  stately  name, 
The  sound  of  which  repels  all  thoughts  of  blame, 
And  make  thee  honorable  and  free  from  shame  ; 
While  simple  trust,  and  firm  unquestioning  love 
And  reverent  faith  in  all  the  saints  above,  . 

Their  graces  lend  ; 
We  see  their  noble  spirit  in  thy  face. 


MARGARET. 


The  old  aesthetic  Grecians  purpose  too 

To  make  thee  fair, 

With  name  a  type  of  all  that's  true  and  pure,— 
A  pearl  that  through  the  ages  will  endure, 
Rare  in  its  loveliness,  beautiful  and  sure. 
A  name  that's  sung  and  storied  far  and  wide, 
A  name  o'er  which  proud  lovers  smiled  and  sighed. 

So,  then,  I  dare 
Bid  thee  too  steadfast  be,  and  sweet  and  true. 

This  is  thy  heritage.     What  else  could  be 
Grander  or  nobler,  more  complete,  for  thee. 


THE  POINT  OF  PINES. 

A  stretch  of  sand, 

Dun-colored,  hard,  with  stones  and  shells  ; 
An  ebbing  sea  that  sinks  and  swell ; 
A  distant  thundering  surf  that  tells 
The  mighty  hand 
Can  hold  the  billows'  upward  rush 
That  gives  the  cloud-hung  a  flush, 
And  calms  the  storm  to  summer  hush. 

A  lowering  sky,— 

Dark  clouds  that  mass  and  swerve  and  shift, 
With  now  and  then  a  passing  rift, 
Till,  as  the  sun  goes  down,  they  lift, 

First  slow  and  shy, 
Then  crimson  glory  floods  the  gray. 
As  from  the  sight  we  turn  away 
Our  idle,  aimless  footsteps  stay, 

For  on  the  sand, 

Like  some  part  of  the  sunset  sky, 
Some  glowing,  scarlet  flowers  lie, 
And  all  the  sombre  shades  defy. 

Dear  friend,  dost  see  ? 
The  hard,  dark  shore,  may  be  my  life, 
The  clouds  be  those  of  lonely  strife, 
And  then,  with  happy  memories  rife, 

The  thought  of  thee 
Stands,  glowing  and  distinct,  apart, 
A  joy  that  never  will  depart, 
But  fills  with  faith  and  rest  my  heart. 


SHADOWS. 


Shadows  all  around  us  fall ; 
Some  are  heavy,  like  a  pall, 
Some  are  daintily  outlined, 
Others  yet  are  scarce  defined. 
Sometimes  flickering,  sometimes  still, 
Sometimes  sombre,  deep,  and  chill, 
Weird  and  wavering,  eerie,  black, 
Swift  they  follow  in  our  track. 

Seest  thou  shadows  in  mine  eyes? 
This  is  then  no  cause  for  sighs. 
For  as  those  at  left  and  right 
Are  not  seen  but  by  some  light, 
So  these  that  you  grieve  to  see 
Should  but  rest  and  comfort  thee, 
Should  speak  faith,  and  not  despair,— 
'Tis  the  lovelight  brings  them  there. 


PANSIES  FOR  THOUGHTS. 


As  soft  rains  fall  upon  the  pansies  sweet, 
And  keep  their  wondrous  loveliness  complete, 
So  fall  the  tears  of  Love  upon  Love's  heart, 
And  deep,  rich  thoughts  of  tenderness  upstart. 


33 


JIM. 


A  shape,  a  form,  a  vision  of  the  night, 

My  hope  and  treasure,  joy  and  chief  delight ! 

A  foe  to  ministers  and  all  such  ' '  stuff, ' ' 

In  speech  peculiar,  and  in  manners  rough, 

Yet  with  a  taste,  incongruous  as  strong, 

For  finest  music  and  for  classic  song. 

Although  so  queer  and  strange  he  always  looks, 

He  smokes  the  best  cigars,  buys  the  best  books, 

And  clothes  himself  regardless,  without  heed. 

Some  of  his  ways  are  very  odd  indeed : 

He  daily  shows,  in  how  things  strike  his  ear, 

' '  None  are  so  deaf  as  those  who  will  not  hear. ' ' 

When  he  is  wanted,  not  a  single  sound 

Can  penetrate  his  silence,  deep,  profound, 

But  rest  assured  a  stray,  unguarded  speech 

Tho'  scarce  above  your  breath,  his  ear  will  reach. 

Again,  sometimes,  (he's  from  a  foreign  land') 

When  he's  addressed,  he  does  "not  understand," 

Altho'  you  choose  a  mild  and  pleasant  strain, 

Expressed  in  accents  clear  and  language  plain. 

He  has  unnumbered  other  curious  ways 

Which  I  omit ;  but  let  me  say,  in  praise, 

That  though  so  many  times  he's  deaf  and  blind 

And  rough,  you'd  be  perplexed  to  find 

A  kinder  heart  in  any  human  breast ; 


34 


K. 


•* 


With  many  noble  qualities  he's  blest, 
Although  some  of  them  yet  may  dormant  lie, 
Waiting  perhaps  a  smile,  perhaps  a  sigh. 
So,  notwithstanding  all  his  faults  and  flaws, 
His  violations  of  all  social  laws, 
Remember  kindly  the  poor,  lonely  man, 
Far  from  his  kith  and  kin,  and  under  ban, 
Without  a  home,  a  country,  or  a  friend, 
His  toil  to  brighten,  or  ambition  lend. 


For  lack  of  speech,  my  song  is  naught, — 

A  weary  day ! 

The  poet's  heart  within  me  burns, 
Yet  sings  not,  though  it  longs  and  yearns 
The  rose  of  hope  to  ashes  turns ; 

So  goes  the  world,— 

A  weary  day  ! 

My  life  is  wasted,  labor's  lost, 

A  weary  day ! 

Another  has  the  prize  I  won 
For  the  long  race,  successful  run ; 
Another  has  the  love  belongs 
To  me,  for  sweet  and  wistful  songs. 

So  goes  the  world, 

A  weary  day ! 


35 


LOVE. 


What  is  it  ?     Vanity  and  show. 
Elusive,  contrary, — you  know  ; 
For  ever  since  the  world  began, 
And  love  sprang  in  the  heart  of  man, 
Poets  have  told  and  bards  have  sung, 
In  every  country,  every  tongue, 
Its  virtues,  vices,  curious  ways. 
Some  give  it  blame,  some  give  it  praise, 
Some  say  it's  sweet,  and  some  do  not, 
Some  call  it  cold  and  others  hot ; 
Some  think  it's  all  that's  dear  and  fair, 
Some  hold  it's  fickle,  false  and  rare. 
Some  this,  some  that :     I  cannot  say  ; 
I  have  not  been  disturbed  that  way. 

No  doubt  that  you,  of  greater  age, 
With  wise  remark  and  comment  sage 
Can  tell  its  pleasures  and  its  pains, 
Can  count  its  losses  and  its  gains  ; 
No  doubt  you  know  its  passion  deep 
That  makes  the  coolest  pulses  leap, 
And  bids  the  blackest  doubts  depart. 
No  doubt  you  know  the  yearning  heart, 
The  longing  ecstasy  of  hope, 
That  gives  your  dreams  a  wider  scope  ; 


36 


No  dohbt  you  know  the  chilling  fear 
That  makes  the  fairest  picture  drear. 
No  doubt  you  know  all  this,  and  more ; 
No  doubt  there's  some  one  you  adore. 

If  so,  look   out  and  don't  be  rash, 
Your  dreams  may  have  a  sudden  crash. 
Another  thing,  don't  ever  flirt, 
For  those  who  do  sometimes  get  hurt. 


Borne  on  the  breeze  that  sweeps  and  dies 

Low-sighing,  faint,  athwart  the  skies, 

As  melodies  from  master  hand, 

Now  swelling  stately,  sweet  and  grand, 

Comes  what,.  I  cannot  understand 

How  it  so  thrills  and  makes  rejoice, 

Except  it  be,  O  love,  thy  voice. 

Shall  tempests  hide  that  voice  from  me  ? 

Hast  thou  no  heart  can  tell  to  thee 

Each  accent  brings  a  new  delight, 

Reveals  a  rift  within  the  night, 

Makes  heavy,  weary  shadows  bright  ? 

Are  there  no  tones  for  me  alone, 

No  love  for  my  love,  mighty  grown  ? 


37 


DREAMS. 


Sitting  in  the  firelight  dim, 

Listening  to  the  storm  without, 

Shall  I  tell  thee  what's  within, 
Tell  thee  what  I  dream  about? 

First,  the  thoughts  of-  other  days,— 
Days  of  childhood,  girlhood  bright, 

Days  of  happy,  careless  ways, 
Many  smiles,  and  sorrows  light. 

Then  the  yearnings  of  my  heart, 
Wonderings  what  shall  be  my  lot ; 

Doubts  and  questionings  form  a  part 
Of  my  growing, — whose  do  not? 

Then  a  few  deceits  and  pains 

Like  swift  clouds  in  smiling  sky ; 

Just  sufficient  shades  and  rains 
Of  men's  words  to  make  me  shy. 

Then  my  wavering  trust  is  caught 
With  my  heart,  in  close  embrace,— 

Tender  dreams  of  passion  taught 
Make  thine  arms  my  resting-place. 


•* 


But  if  thou  too  prove  to  me 

Solemn  words  light  meaning  bear, 

Then  in  what  shall  my  trust  be, 
Where  fade  all  my  visions  feir? 

Sitting  in  the  firelight  dim, 

Listening  to  the  storm  without, 

These  the  thoughts  that  are  within, 
This  is  what  I  dream  about. 


VALENTINE'S  DAY. 


Valentine's  Day  brings  not  to  me 

A  hope  of  joy  and  unity. 

Love  is  an  echo  dim  and  far, 

Even  faith  has  ebbed  beyond  the  bar. 

Nor  yet  to  you  does  life  appear 

Too  full  of  hope  and  glow  and  cheer. 

Is  this  a  token,  then,  that  we 

No  more  shall  only  strangers  be  ? 

Each  heart  to  heart  can  something  lend  ; 

Shall  I  then  hope  to  call  you  friend  ? 

Doubt,  dread,  and  all  unrest  shall  fade. 
All  grief  your  sympathy  shall  aid  ; 
Your  faith  shall  hold  me  in  life's  shade. 


39 


FAREWELL. 


O,  friend,  whose  grave  and  gentle  face 
Has  gone  so  lately  from  my  sight, 

How  clearly  every  look  and  line 
Comes  now  before  me  as  I  write. 

A  face  where  gravity  and  laughter  lies,— 

And  tears  of  sudden  sadness  fill  my  eyes. 

How  sharply  comes  to  mind  to-night 

The  happiness  of  just  sped  days, 
The  gentleness  in  look  and  smile, 

The  grace  and  kindness  of  your  ways. 
How  little  thought  I,  as  I  hushed  my  sorrow 
That  greater  grief  might  come  to  me  to-morrow  ! 

We  lose  a  friend  by  death  and  weep  ; 

We  think  our  life  is  filled  with  sadness  ; 
But  if  a  friend  we  love  forgets, 

Is  this  not  worse  than   death — a  madness? 
'Tis  then  the  dragging  hours  seem  like  years, 
And  memories  bring  but  agony  and   tears. 

So  then  if  you  forget  me  now, 

Although  we  always  be  apart, 
Canst  thou  not  see,  my  friend,  my  friend, 

That  bitterness  will  fill  my  heart  ? 
For  the  last  time  I  pinned  my  faith  to  you, 
If  you  keep  not  your  friendship,  none  are  true. 


40 


*• 


FAINT  NOT. 


Faint  not,  my  heart,  though  days  are  long, 

Droop  not  if  toil  is  hard ; 
Shed  not  thy  tears,  but  be  thou  strong, 

When  fates  thy  joy  retard. 
You're  but  one  heart,  and  life  at  best 

Is  not  so  long  but  you'll  find  rest. 
Keep  back  thy  pain  from  other  eyes, 

From  other  lips  they  dread  ; 
'Tis  only  time  for  tears,  when  tears 

In  sympathy  are  shed. 
No  life  to  you  seems  smooth  and  fair, 
But  bitterness  lies  smouldering  there. 


•* 


THE  LIGHTS. 


The  night  wind  has  a  moaning  blast, 
November  leaves  sweep  rustling  past ; 
The  stars  are  faint,  and  far,  and  few, 
Scarce  do  they  pierce  the  blackness  through. 

I,  standing  at  the  window-pane, 

And  looking  out  across  the  plain, 

Although  I  know  that  just  without 

With  wooded  hills  'tis  hedged  about, 

And  then  more  plains,  another  hill, 

And  woods — and  plains — and  valleys  still, 

I  look  beyond  them  as  a  haze. 

Almost  I  see  the  summer  days, 

Almost  I  feel  the  summer  nights 

Come  stealing  on  with  their  delights ; 

The  summer  sounds  I  seem  to  hear, 

They  thrill  with  mingled  peace  and  fear. 

Why  beats  my  heart  so  fast — so  fast  ? 

I  see  the  river   flowing  past, 

And,  looking  out  across  its  tide, 

I  watch  upon  the  other  side 

The  lights — the  gleaming,  myriad  lights, 

Shining  through  mists  of  summer  nights. 

No,  no  !     I  hear  the  moaning  blast, 
The  rustling  leaves  go  sweeping  past ; 
Hedged  round  with  hills  is  still  the  plain, 
The  mists  are  in  my  eyes — of  pain ; 
And,  as  if  shivering  in  the  gale, 
The  village  lights  are  flickering  pale. 


42 


A  YEAR  AGO. 


A  year  ago  the  Sabbath  bells 

Were  not  so  sweet, 
The  frosty  air  was  not  so  clear, 
My  home  and  friends  seemed  not  so  near, 
Or  life  and  love  so  true  and  dear, 

And  grief  so  fleet. 

A  year  ago  the  Sabbath  bells 

Fell  on  a  heart 

That  dormant  lay  in  cynic  doubt, 
With  cold  indifference  walled  about, 
Hope's  cheer  and  glow  all  driven  out, 

Poor  tired  heart. 

A  year  ago  the  Sabbath  bells, 

With  mournful  sound, 
Seemed  saying  life  was  cold  and  drear, 
Its  leaden  moments  had  no  cheer. 
Seemed  crying,   "  When  shall  death  appear, 

And  rest  beu  found  ? ' ' 

But  ah  !  to-day  the  Sabbath  bells 

Are  full  and  deep  ; 
Their  echoing  music  does  not  cease, 
But  in  my  heart  sings  glad  release 
To  floods  of  golden  love  and  peace 

That  o'er  me  sweep. 


43 


>  ( 


To-day,  dear  friend,  the  Sabbath  bells 

Are  dear  to  me, — 

Are  dear  because  each  rise  and  fall, 
Bach  cadence  clear,  each  echoing  call, 
Speaks  of  my  refuge,  trust,  my  all, 

My  loved  one, — thee  ! 


ONE  HEART. 


What  is  one  snowflake  in  the  storm  ? 

It  gaily  floats  and  dallies, 
And  then  is  lost  amid  the  drifts 
Upon  some  cold  and  wind-swept  cliffs, 

Or  silent,  unknown  valleys. 

What  is  one  raindrop  on  the  tide  ? 

With  one  engulfing  motion 
The  wave  on  which  it  falls  sweeps  back, 
And  vanishes'  in  billows  black, 

Far  out  upon  the  ocean. 

What  is  one  heart  amid  the  world,— 

Its  love,  its  joy,  its  sorrow  ? 
What  matters  it  if  storm  and  tide 
Drift  in  to-day  and  there  abide, 

Since  it  must  break  to-morrow  ! 


44 


A.  F. 


I  have  not  known  you  very  long, 
I  do  not  think  you  care  for  me  ; 

But  let  me  in  a  little  song 

Express  a  kindly  wish  for  thee. 

Though  you  are  young  and  happy  now, 
Although  no  cares  encloud  your  brow, 

No  doubt  your  heart  oppresses. 
And  though  perhaps  you  think  the  years 
To  come  will  still  sing  in  your  ears 

The  tale  your  heart  confesses, 
Of  hope,  of  happiness  and  cheer, 
'Twill  not  be  so,  for  pain  and  fear 
And  disappointment,  sorrow^ 
Come  to  us  all  ;  it's  truth  to  say 
If  troubles  pass  us  by  to-day 

They'll  seek  us  on  the  morrow. 

But  don't  mind  that  ;  suppose  they  do, 
If  you  have  hearts  both  brave  and  true 

To  comfort  and  defend  you, 
You  will  not  need  to  droop  and  sigh, 
For  they  will  help  you  to  defy 

What  fate  the  gods  may  send  you. 


*• 


45 


Keep  but  the  hope  and  cheer  of  youth, 
And  never  lose  your  love  and  truth  ; 

And,  too,  whate'er  betide  you, 
Be  sure  and  trust  with  all  your  heart 
In  those  whose  lives  with  yours  form  part, 

The  friends  who  stand  beside  you. 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS. 


Fresh  blows  the  breeze  from  off  the  sea. 
Return  there  not,  my  friend,  to  thee, 
Echoes  from  out  the  far-off  past, 
Each  fainter,  sweeter  than  the  last, 
Melting  on  memory's  ear,  it  seems, 
As  chimes  in  some  fair  land  of  dreams, 
Now  wafted  by  the  breeze  to  thee  ? 

Gazing  far  out  upon  that  sea 

O'er  which  these  echoes  float  to  thee, 

O  friend,  wouldst  thou  not,  as  they  cease, 

Drift  back  with  them  to  shores  of  peace  ? 

No  haunting  thoughts,  no  dread,  no  woe, 

Or  any  burden  here  you  know, 

Will  reach  you  in  that  land  of  dreams. 


46 


ON  THE  ROCKS. 


A  golden  summer  afternoon  ; 

A  mass  of  rocks ;  below,  the  sea, 
Which,  washing  idly,  seems  to  croon 

A  mighty  melody  for  me,— 
A  melody  of  golden  days 

L,ike  this,  days  warm  and  stilled, 
With  far-off,  purple,  dreamy  haze, 

And  perfumed  breeze  with  languor  filled 
A  melody  that  breathes  forth  peace, 

And  sings  of  poets'  loves  and  dreams  ; 
And  through  it  all  there  does  not  cease 

A  chord  that's  deep  and  firm,  that  seems 
To  weave  among  its  subtler  notes 

One,  like  the  rocks,  that's  high  and  free, 
And  one  on  which  the  whole  song  floats, 

Grand,  weird,  far-reaching,  like  the  sea. 

But  wait  !     More  freshly  starts  the  wind, 

And  now  more  restless  grows  my  song  ; 
It  leaves  pale,  languid  strains  behind, 

To  merge  in  others,  bold  and  strong. 
It  rushes  past  the  idle  days,— 

Some  notes  of  scorn  within  it  lurk,— 
It  sings  no  simple,  soothing  lays, 

But  rather,  action — purpose — work  ! 


47 


It  bids  me  lay  my  dreaming  by, 

Nor  seek  in  love  my  happiness  ; 
It  swells,  and  swells  and  rises  high  ; 

It  gathers  to  itself  distress. 
I,  starting  up,  stretch  out  my  arms. 

Alas  !  I  am  alone — alone  ! 
There  are  but  rocks — and  summer  charms  ; 

The  sea  is  but  a  monotone. 


TO  E.   F. 


Evening  closes  round  us  gently, 
Lightly  falls  the  cloak  of  night. 
In  the  stars  that  with  soft  splendor 
Zone  the  ever-darkening  height 
Are  the  signs  of  rest  and  slumber. 
Birds  low  sound  their  evening  calls, 
Ever  fainter,  sweeter,  fainter,    • 
Till  at  last  the  stillness  falls, 
Hushing  with  its  peace  our  murmurs. 

Friend  of  mine,  do  not  these  gloamings, 
Rich  with  promises  of  spring, 
Ever  calmer  thoughts  and  holier 
Near  our  restless  spirits  bring  ? 
Now  do  pain  and  anxious  sorrows 
In  the  distance  fade  and  fade  ; 
Newer,  fresher  life  awakens, 
Grander,  deeper,  free  from  shade.' 


48 


*• 


A  MEMORY. 

In  these  springtime  evenings,  love, 

Cool  and  wet  with  dew, 
Something  stirs  within  my  heart, 

Wakened  there  by  you. 
Something  warm  and  close  and  sweet, 
Something  maddening,  incomplete, 

Since  we've  said  adieu. 

In  the  throbbing  nights  of  June 

It  will  haunt  my  dreams, 
Thrilling  me  with  tenderness, 

Till  my  slumber  seems 
But  a  life  intoxicate 
With  a  memory  come  too  late, 

Blinding  in  its  gleams. 

While  November's  frost  is  white, 

All  the  world  is  cold, 
Still  my  trembling,  frightened  heart 

With  its  fire  'twill  hold,— 
Haunting,  clinging,  maddening  yet, 
Filled  with  tears  and  wild  regret, 

New,  when  life  is  old. 


49 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 


Down  in  the  Valley  of  Unrest  I  walked, 

In  silence,  and  with  dim  surprise, 
And  ever  nearer  to  my  side  there  stalked 

Gaunt  Recklessness,  with  evil  eyes  ; 
Till  with  clear  glance,  and  tenderness  and  grace, 
There  came  one  with  the  sunlight  on  his  face. 

He  took  my  hand,  and,  pointing  up  the  steep, 

Told  me  the  way  was  long  at  best, 
But  if  in  his  my  hand  he  might  but  keep, 

Far  on  the  heights  we  two  might  rest ; 
And  so — not  long  the  way,  but  sweet  and  glad. 
I  looked  once  in  his  eyes,  and  gave  him  all  I  had. 

And  as  we  journeyed  on,  no  more  alone, 

Gently  as  ever  roseleaf  parts 
Awoke  a  power  that  day  by  day  had  grown, 

And  drowned  the  beating  of  our  hearts. 
And  as  we  neared  the  heights,  once  more,  with  awe, 
I  looked  in  those  clear  eyes,  and  knelt  at  what  I  saw. 

And  when  we  came  where  we  had  dreamed  of  rest^ 

He,  being  ready,  loosed  his  grasp, 
Passed  on  and  left  me-  lonely,  heart-oppressed, 

Faint,  groping  blindly  for  his  clasp  ; 
Yet  with  a  smile  and  touch  that  haunt  and  thrill, 
Wrapped  in  a  peace  that  makes  my  heart  stand  still. 


IMPLORATIO, 


O  Death,  my  love,  art  thou  so  far 
Thou  caust  not  listen  to  my  cry  ? 

With  victories  art  thou  satiate, 

Do  mine  entreaties  come  too  late, 

Wilt  leave  me  to  a  colder  fate  ? 
Is  there  no  pleading  in  mine  eye 

To  reach  thee,  Death,  who  art  so  far? 

O  Death,  my  love,  art  thou  so  hard 

That  no  beseeching  moves  thy  breast  ? 
Have  my  young  life,  my  outstretched  arms, 
My  tears  and  kisses,  suppliant  palms, 
And  my  warm  heart  ,  for  thee  no  charms  ? 

My  weary  longing,  now  expressed  ? 
Ah,  Death,  my  love,  be  not  so  hard  ! 

O  Death,  my  love,  art  thou  so  proud 

Thou  canst  not  stoop  to  one  so  low  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  give  thy  close  embrace, 
Not  lend  the  white  light  of  thy  face, 
Not  soothe  and  lull  me  with  thy  grace  — 

Must  I  forever  loveless  go  ? 
Ah  !  Death,  ah  !  Death,  be  not  so  proud  ! 


A  VALENTINE. 


My  Valentine  is  far  away, 

And  more  than  that,  he  loves  me  not. 
He  does  not  care  that  here,  to-day, 
Amid  the  winter  shadows  gray, 
I  sit  and  dream,  and  dream,  and  pray 

His  life  be  fair  ;  he  loves  me  not. 

And  yet,  if  I  must  choose  between 

Him  as  he  is,  and  others'  love, 
I  shall  not  wonder  long  what  mean 
The  throbbings  of  my  heart,  I  ween, 
Nor  pause  for  doubt  to  choose  between 
Him,  caring  tjot,  and  others'  love. 

And  so  my  life  is  dearer  far 

Because  his  steps  have  crossed  my  path  ; 
And  neither  chance  nor  change  can  mar 
His  image,  fixed,  as  some  bright  star, 
My  heart  within, — nor  memory  bar, 

My  Valentine,  who  crosssed  my  path. 


52 


THE  FLIRTS. 

When  I  am  with  you,  then  I  love  you  dearly, 

At  least,— I  think  I  do  ; 
And  all  your  smiles  and  little  tender  glances 

Seem  sweet  to  me,  and  true  ; 
And  when  you  take  my  hand,  and  gently  speak, 
Of  course  it  brings  the  color  to  my  cheek. 

If  you  persist  in  looking  at  me  fondly, 

Why, — I  am  not  a  stone, — 
Perhaps  sometimes  my  eyes  in  turn  grow  tender, 

And  in  my  voice  a  tone 

Seems  to  respond  to  your  unuttered  thought, 
And  give  you  back  the  answer  that  you  sought. 

But  when  you  leave  me,  it's  a  different  matter : 

It  seems  a  little  play, 
In  which  we  all  have  made  expected  speeches, 

A  pastime  for  to-day. 

Of  course  to-morrow  all  the  parts  are  new, 
And  that  is  very  nice,  I  think,  don't  you  ? 

How  could  I  tell  that  you  were  more  than  flirting, 
As  you  had  done  before  ? 

And  oh  !  indeed, — pray,  pray  don't  lose  your  temper- 
He's  gone  ! — and  slammed  the  door  ! 

Dear  me  !  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  he's  but  to  choose. 

Well — so  he  may,  of  course.     I  can  refuse  ! 


53 


AN  AUTUMN  REVERY. 


O  autumn  flowrers,  that  erst  so  gayly  budded, 

Where  are  the  smiles  you  seemed  to  sow  broadcast  ? 
Where  the  warm  tints  with  which  the  earth  you  flooded, 

Speaking  the  grace  of  love  not  overpast  ? 
If  in  one  blast  you  tremble,  shrink,  and  cower, 

If  in  one  sweep  of  frost  you  meekly  fade, 
Why  should  the  rose-tints  that  our  poor  loves  shower 

Shine  through  the  blights  that  on  our  souls  are  laid  ? 

O  autumn  winds,  but  now  so  lightly  breathing, 

Where  are  the  balms  and  hopes  you  promised  us  ? 
Why,  as  you  freshened,  as  with  vigor  seething, 

New,  grand  uplifting  did  you  herald  thus  ? 
If  in  the  night  you  turn  to  sobs  and  wailing, 

If  in  the  morning  greet  us  with  a  moan, 
Why  should  our  hearts'  hope  still  be  never- failing, 

Why  should  our  eyes  be  filled  with  light  alone  ? 

O  hopes  of  youth  that  once  so  proudly  lifted, 

Where  are  the  aims  and  joys  you  held  so  dear? 
Where  the  aspirings,  where  the  desires  that  shifted 

Swift  through  the  days  that  knew  no  cloud  or  tear  ? 
If  on  the  peaks  of  life  your  fair  dreams  perish, 

If  in  the  gulfs  of  death  your  faint  heart  fall, 
Why  should  we  still  our  weak  ambitions  cherish, 

Why  should  we  welcome  not  the  restful  pall  ? 


•* 


DELUSIONS. 


Along  the  far  horizon  of  our  lives 
Rise  phantom  shapes  that  mock  our  gaze  ; 
They  beckon  with  bewildering  hands, 
Haunt  all  our  dreams,  infest  our  days  ; 
Useless  our  strife, — their  elfin  bands 
Recede  as  we  advance  ;  so  Fate  contrives. 

Can  there  no  border  be  where  we  shall  meet 
Life's  longed-for  ends,  and  find  them  fair? 
Are  there  no  golden  fields  where  Hope, 
Reaching  young  hands  from  dull  Despair, 
Knows  that'her  feet  have  found, the^JojDa 
Extending  protid-FruJtiotC s .realm'* togreet? 


Beyond  the  golden  fields  of  youth, 

What  lies  ? 

A  chance  to  find  how  rare  is  truth, 
A  valley  of  remorse  and  ruth. 

And  sighs, 
Beyond  the  golden  fields  of  youth. 

Athwart  the  placid  soul  of  age, 

What  falls  ? 

A  shadow  from  cold  memory's  page. 
Bringing  despair,  or  fear,  or  rage, 

It  falls 
Athwart  the  placid  soul  of  age. 


55 


A  storm- worn  house  stood  on  a  hill  ; 
Gray  were  its  walls,  and  old,  and  chill  ; 
Brown  fields,  dark  forests,  round  about, — 
I  thought  of  souls  with  hope  gone  out. 

I  turned  me  back,  and  looked  once  more. 
And  where  was  dusk  and  gloom  before 
There  blazed  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
One  moment,  till  the  day  was  done. 

A  life  lived  out  its  lotted  days 
Alone,  in  sombre,  dreary  ways  ; 
There  flashed  across  its  downcast  eyes 
The  light  of  love,  from  Paradise. 


The  tears  that  fill  my  eyes  at  poet's  plaint, 
At  music's  cadence,  violets'  fragrance  faint, 

Are  not  for  sadness. 

The  joy  that  sweeps  me  through  at  burst  of  light, 
The  thrill  that  lifts  me,  as  up  some  far  height, 

Are  not  madness. 

They  are  the  tears,  the  thrill,  the  joy  divine 
That  shadow  forth  to  this  sad  soul  of  mine 

My  love's  approaching. 

Signs,  too,  which  seem  to  tell  me  I  may  know 
A  sacred  happiness,  like  heaven's  below. 
On  earth's  encroaching. 


THE  WEDDING  DAY. 


Two  lives  made  one  !     No  more  apart, 
In  either  hope,  or  thought,  or  dreams, 

But  evermore  with  heart  to  heart, 

Through  all  that  is,  or  comes,  or  seems. 

In  youth's  bright  hours,  with  pleasure's  breath, 
In  shadows,  when  life's  noon  is  done, 

In  tears  or  gladness,  e'en  till  death,— 
.  No  more  apart, — two  lives  made  one. 

To  you,  whose  stronger  steadier  hand 

Perchance  may  grasp  the  guiding  helm, 
May  you  perceive  how  high  and  grand 

Can  be  the  love  no  doubts  o'erwhelm. 
And  may  it  nerve  you  to  perform 

Deeds  good  and  brave  for  love's  dear  sake, 
And  make  you  strong  to  ward  the  storm 

From  her  whose  life  to-day  you  take. 

And  you,  to  whom  shall  fall  the  task 

To  keep  the  home  fires  bright  and  clear, 
Can  you  imagine,  hope,  or  ask 

A  blessing  greater,  or  more  dear  ? 
May  you  with  tenderness  and  grace 

The  joy  that  thrills  your  soul  reveal, 
Till  it  shall  shine  from  every  place 

Your  gentleness  and  love  shall  seal. 


* 
57 


O  mystery  of  human  love 

Wellnigh  divine  through  purity  ! 
Heaven  grant  it  lift  you  far  above 

The  depths  of  life's  obscurity. 
Bow  reverently  as  you  pause 

Outside  a  land  you  do  not  know, 
And  ask,  as  you  its  borders  cross, 

God's  blessing  may  upon  you  go. 


The  waves  that  ever  sweep  the  shore 
From  evermore  to  evermore, 

Do  not  endure 

More  than  that  love  that  seeks  no  end, 
Fears  not  all  fortunes  Heaven  may  send, 

Is  steadfast,  sure. 

The  sands  that  shift  from  place  to  place, 
Yet  ever  in  the  sea's  embrace, 

Are  not  more  glad 

To  yield  themselves,  than  is  the  heart 
That  seeks  within  that  love  a  part, 

Or  bright,  or  sad. 


VALENTINE. 


When  thou  art  far  away  from  me, 

And  I  no  longer  see 
The  face  and  smile  that  greeted  me 

Whene'er  I  turned  to  thee, 
O  sweetest  maid,  must  I  then  pine, 
Wilt  thou  not  be  my  Valentine  ? 

Nay,  rather  let  me  rest  content ; 

The  distant  summer  glow 
That  warms  my  heart  to  thee  is  sent, 

And  o'er  the  winter  snow 
Shall  come  in  gleam  and  sparkle  signs 

That  tell  me  we  are  Valentines. 

So,  maiden  fair,  although  farewells 
Must  come  to  all, — and  us,— 

We'll  sing  gay  songs  to  memory's  bells, 
And  cheer  the  parting  thus. 

And  light  and  star,  and  day  divine 

Shall  speak  of  thee,  my  Valentine. 


Canst  thou  not  guess  why  all  the  world  is  fair 

Hast  thou  no  notion  why  the  valleys  low, 

All  brooks  and  meadow-lands,  rocks,  woods,  and  fields, 

Reveal  to  me  their  sweetest,  tenderest  glow  ? 

Lies  there  no  meaning  in  the  lark's  clear  call, 

In  songs  of  bobolink  and  thrush  that  fall 

Echoing  lightly  through  the  perfumed  air  ? 

Except  it  be  because  I  love  thee,  dear, 

Dost  thou  imagine  why  these  things  are  so  ? 

Only  because  it  happened  so  this  year  ? 

Not  so.     It  is  because  I  love  thee,  dear. 


59 


BLOCK  ISLAND. 


There  lies  an  island  in  the  seas, 
O'er  which  is  blowing  now  a  breeze 
That  comes  to  me  so  light,  so  thrilled 
With  recollections,  and  so  filled 
With  drowsy  sea-songs,  light  and  low, 
As  in  a  dream  they  seem  to  blow. 

And  in  my  dreams  I  see  once  more, 
All  the  enchantments  of  that  shore  : 
Upon  its  cliffs  I  stand,  and  gaze  ; 
The  sea's  in  front ;  behind,  there  lays 
The  sleepy  village,  quaint  and  old, 
Steeped  in  the  August  sunlight's  gold. 

Or  else  the  beach's  warm,  soft  sand 

Idly  pile  with  aimless  hand, 

And  watch  each  bather's  glowing  face, 

Emerging  from  the  sea's  embrace  ; 
And  mark  the  cool  waves,  as  they  slide 
A  little  nearer  to  my  side. 

Again  I  see  the  dancing  feet 
The  music's  rhythmic  measure  beat, — 
And  turn  from  voices,  smiles,  and  light, 
To  where  the  throbbing,  restless  night, 
In  tossing  breeze  and  whispering  sea, 
Its  sad  weird  song  would  sing  to  me. 


60 


Then,  in  the  morning,  as  I  lie 
In  sunlight,  and  the  wind  goes  by, 
Laden  with  warmth,  and  languidness, 
Breathing  a  hope  and  a  caress, 
I  vaguely  wonder,  more  and  more, 
What  made  me  sad  the  night  before. 

So  it  is  with  both  sigh  and  smile 
At  last  I  leave  that  happy  isle, 
And  with  a  strange  regret  as  well, 
I  wave  a  silent,  fond  farewell. 

No  pleasure  yet  but  breathed  of  pain  ; 

Even  joy's  tears  must  leave  a  stain. 

Now  far  away,  and  in  my  dream 
To  linger  there  again  I  seem  ; 
To  greet  the  sea,  and  shore,  and  sky 
Without  the  sadness  of  good-by. 

So  in  my  heart  will  ever  be 

The  memories  of  fair  days, — and  thee. 


61 


*• 


ACROSS  THE  RIVER. 


What  mean  to  thee,  dear  heart,  the  lights 
That  shine  each  night  across  the  river, 

As,  passing  from  the  town  you  see 

Their  clear  reflections  flash  and  quiver  ? 

Speak  they  of  gay  and  brilliant  throng 
That  seem  to  mock  thy  day's  endeavor, 

A  happy  and  bewildering  world, 

In  which  thou  hast  no  part  forever  ? 

Speak  they  of  cold  and  grasping  strife, 
In  which  thy  heart  grows  chill  and  weary, 

Of  human  malice,  cunning,  crime, 

Of  blackened  souls,  and  lives  made  dreary  ? 

Speak  they  of  poverty,  distress, 

Of  godless  strength  the  weak  assailing, 

Of  want  and  wickedness  and  death, 
Of  fearful  cries  and  hopeless  wailing  ? 

Ah  no,  my  friend  !  not  thus,  not  thus, 
They  speak  to  us, — do  they  not  rather 

Shine  cheerly  as  from  glowing  hearths, 
Where  tender  loving  faces  gather  ? 

Do  they  not  bid  us  love  and  wait, 
These  happy  lights  across  the  river, 

And  still  be  sure  of  finding,  dear, 
A  home,  a  fireside, — ours, — forever? 


62 


MY  VALENTINE. 


Thou  who  hast  been  to  me  a  friend, 
When  sad  my  heart  was  reaching~forth, 

Thou  who  hast  tenderest  patience  shown, 
Although  the  end  was  little  worth, 

Help  me  to  nobleness  like  thine, 

And  be  my  friend  and  Valentine. 

Thou  who  by  earnest,  faithful  life 

Earth's  beauty  hast  more  beauteous  made, 

Thou  who  with  silent,  steady  soul 
Earth's  trivial  things  aside  hast  laid, 

Ah  !  take  me  to  that  soul  divine, 

And  be  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

Thou  to  whose  strong  and  steady  hand 
I  all  my  griefs  and  fears  commit, 

Thou  to  whose  wise  and  loving  care 
I  all  my  days  and  years  submit, 

Through  all  the  world  thy  life  is  mine, 

For  art  thou  not  my  Valentine  ? 


•" 


THE  HILL. 


Long  miles  away  there  is  a  hill 
That  rises  beautiful  and  still ; 
And  on  its  slopes  sweet  flowers  grow, 
And  on  its  crest  bright  breezes  blow. 

Beyond,  the  harbor  tosses  free, 
And  ships  sail  far,  far  out  to  sea  ; 
And  just  between,  the  city  lies, 
And  domes  and  monuments  arise. 

There  is  the  fair  old  college  town, 
With  the  blue  river  winding  down, 
And  round  and  round  on  every  hand, 
Historic  shafts  and  steeples  stand. 

There  too  are  other  towns,  and  streams 
That  far  off  are  but  silver  gleams  ; 
And  there  are  fields,  and  many  a  hill, 
And  the  grand  mountains  farther  still. 

And  midst  it  all,  one  slender  spire, 
At  sunset  touched  with  glittering  fire, 
In  that  fair  scene  more  dear  will  seem 
Since  eyes  I  love  will  catch  its  gleam. 


64 


0  silent  hill,  look  out  for  me 

On  that  old  town  and  tossing  sea 
Give  greeting  to  each  well-loved*  spot : 

1  am  far  off,  and  see  it  not. 

O  eyes  I  love,  when  evening's  nigh, 
And  you  look  west  at  glowing  sky, 
Beyond  the  spire,  beyond  the  hill, 
My  heart  beats  warm,  and  loves  you  still. 


There  is  no  spot  on  earth  where  I  may  rest ; 
Alone  I  roam  from  mountain  crest  to  crest, 
From  vale  to  vale,  from  crowded  mart  to  mart, 
With  ever  restlessness  within  my  heart. 

The  wrestling  and  the  toil  of  life  can  still 
No  sound  j)f  those  which  all  my  hours  fill. 
The  slumbers  of  the  weary  calm  not  me  ; 
The  peace  and  hush  of  death  are  all  I  see. 


Even  a  cloud  that  doth  our  paths  enfold 
Need  not  be  black,  but  silver  is,  or  gold, 

Or  rose,  or  fair. 

So  we,  with  earth-born  tears  bedimmed, 
See  not  the  heavenly  radiance  brimmed, 

In  griefs  we  bear. 


•* 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS. 


Out  of  the  depths  of  the  grave  thou  callest  me, 

light  of  my  soul, 
Callest  me  gently  and  sweetly,  as  sweetly  as 

church  bells  toll,— 
Thou  who  wast  once  my  delight,  my  passion, 

pride  and  my  rose, 
Callest  with  Love's  own  intone  from  thy  little 

low  bed  of  repose. 
Tell  me,  O  sweetheart  mine,  is  it  sheltered  and 

cool  down  there  ? 

Do  you  hear  any  notes  of  pain  in  the  whisper- 
ing, breathing  air  ? 
Is  there  anything  there  called  Death — or  Grief— 

or  Shame — or  Regret  ? 
Do  they  lull  you  to  sleep  with  moans, — and  are 

any  eyelids  wet 
With  the  tears  of  a  hope  gone  by,  or  the  mist 

of  a  woe  concealed  ? 
Come  to  your  lips  no  sighs?     Are  your  scars 

and  your  sufferings  healed  ? 
And  are  you  so  safe  and  so  sure,  little  sweet- 
heart, in  peace, 
That  you  dare  call  to  your  side,  down  there 

where  your  miseries  cease, 
One  wicked    and   weary    and   wild,  in   whose 

breast  all  brave  thoughts  die,— 


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One  heartbroken,  weak,  despairing,  remorseful, 
sad, — such  as  I  ? 

What !  Thou  darest  ?  Thou  callest  me  still  ? 
Then,  my  darling,  I  come, — 

I  seek  the  repose  you  have  found,  where  the 
voice  of  all  passion  is  dumb. 

I  shake  off  the  fetters  of  time,  and  break  through 
the  bondage  of  sense. 

One  moment  only,  and  then — Down  there  is  no 
Whither  or  Whence. 

Farewell  to  the  world,  to  ambition,  to  strug- 
gling, mocking,  and  groan,— 

I  see  thy  tender  arms  open  !  I  come,  my  sweet- 
heart, my  own ! 


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